Chapter Thirty-Two: The End

Lancer was about to cleave through a vampire blocking his path, and beyond that lay the female vampire who was clearly their leader. He knew his time was running out. The last thing he could do for Toria was to rid the land of these pests who troubled the people. He believed that once they no longer had to waste time on these enemies, the other knights would surely be able to strengthen and elevate Britannia faster than in the histories of old.

Just as his blade was about to end the creature before him, the vampire suddenly shrieked, "All for the True Ancestor!" and then, in an instant, shriveled up. A black shadow shot from the desiccated corpse straight towards Lancer.

A piercing sound echoed.

Unimaginably, a white figure stepped in front of him.

"White Night!"

White Night, who had been hovering above, sensed the deadly threat and instantly shielded Lancer. Though its frail form could never hope to withstand the dying strike of a vampire duke, it chose to accompany its master in "departure."

"No!" In Lancer's plan, this was to be a sacrifice of himself alone to purge the land of this poison. He had never expected White Night would choose to follow him.

––––––––– The dividing line of arrival –––––––––

When Toria and the others reached Lancer, they saw him driving two short blades into the female vampire's chest. Around him lay scorched fragments and splattered blood of every hue.

"Lancer!" Toria called out, seeing him standing at the center like a god of war, but as she rushed forward, Merlin held her back.

"Teacher…"

"Don't go near." Just as Toria was about to question, Lancer shouted loudly.

"What is wrong with you?" Gawain, knowing Lancer's feelings for Toria, could not imagine why he would speak to her this way.

"Have you not noticed?" At this moment, everyone saw Lancer lift his head, his face marked by a bitter smile.

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Merlin, the most learned among them, was the first to react. "Could it be... magical dissolution?" Yet even he hesitated, for this phenomenon only occurred in dying elves. Born of nature, elves dissolve into pure magical essence upon death, returning to the earth. Though Merlin did not know why Lancer aided Toria, he was certain Lancer was human; he had checked after their first encounter, lest Lancer pose a danger to Toria.

"Yes," Lancer said, "I invoked the sword bestowed by the goddess to summon nature's lightning, which gave me strength, but the price is that I will dissolve into pure magic and return to nature."

He sighed. He had thought human power could conquer nature, yet now he truly understood its might.

"My time is short. May I have a moment alone with the king?" Lancer asked, and the others quietly withdrew.

When all had left, the tears Toria had hidden broke free, falling uncontrollably. Lancer tried to catch them, but they evaporated in his hands. Seeing this, Toria's tears flowed all the more.

"King, remember—you are the King of Britannia, not simply Toria. You must be strong, not yield to tears. And this is not a final parting..." Lancer’s body began to dissolve into light, starting from his legs and slowly rising.

He smiled gently, and in his ear he heard, "Return initiated, countdown begun." He said, "King, do not grieve. My departure was destined. To serve you was my greatest happiness. Perhaps you never knew, but you taught me the meaning of responsibility. My time is almost gone. Lastly, I only wish to tell you, I..." Lancer's words stopped abruptly. Toria, unable to hold back any longer, broke into loud sobs.

Those outside heard her cries but said nothing. Besides Merlin, Lancer had spent the most time with Toria; they understood the bond of brother and subject.

"Brother, with Lancer's strength, he should never have fallen here. Why did he..." Gaheris could not forget the figure who would ruffle his hair and teach him how to manage affairs, or kick him during training to correct his mistakes.

"There must be a reason. Lancer was strange when he came to save me. Often, he would intercept attacks I could have handled, even at the cost of injury. Did he know he was doomed? But..." At that moment, he recalled the man who blocked the castle gate that night, and the letter.

"The letter! There must be a letter!" Gawain, suddenly struck by the thought, paid no heed to the others and shouted to Wright, "Wright, check if there's a letter hidden in your leader's mask!"

Instantly, all eyes turned to the grieving group known as the Poison Sting.

"Mask?" Wright drew the mask from his waist and, feeling around, indeed found an unopened letter. Gawain snatched it and opened it.

The first line read—"Hmm~ Looks like I’m probably dead, right?"

Though they knew Lancer's quirky nature, none expected such words at the start of this "farewell letter." Yet they kept reading.

"I guess this letter will either be found by that kid Wright or you, Gawain. But I think it’s you, Gawain—Wright would likely stash my mask at headquarters and make himself a new one. That’s just like him." Wright’s face turned red and he scratched his head.

"Enough chatter. I just want you to know my departure was destined. I don’t know what time it is now, but this letter was written the day I founded Poison Sting, so don’t grieve. Even if I leave, don’t forget our goal—to make Britannia the strongest nation. Don’t let anything lead you astray."

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It was a short letter, but none expected that Lancer had foreseen this day a year ago. Outside, Maple’s expression darkened. In his eyes, only God could take away that upright figure so suddenly and without warning. Because of the letter, he made a vow—a vow to persist, even if it meant betraying everyone.

"My lord! I swear before you—even if I must betray the gods, I will fulfill your wish. Whoever brings ruin to this country, I will end their life myself."

What had been intended as a warning to those knights destined to betray King Arthur became the birth of Arthur’s greatest betrayer—the Poison Sting. When they felt Arthur could no longer lead the nation forward, they chose to help her foster son, Mordred, for the kingdom’s future.

–––––––––– The dividing line of return ––––––––––

"Welcome back."

"Mm."

Since the first encounter, Lianhua had been labeled a sadist by Lancer, but now she simply watched him silently.

"Don’t dwell on it. You’ll see her again, so don’t grieve." Lianhua, always alone and not skilled at comforting others, said only this before falling silent.

"Sigh, seeing you like this, you can’t continue the 'mission' as I hoped. You must understand, I don’t need powerful warriors—I need your heart, filled with love for the two-dimensional world. You’ve changed completely. Never mind, I’ll grant you some leave." With that, she turned to go.

From the mist came Lianhua’s voice.

"When you wish to return, simply say 'depart' to the ring. When I think you’re ready to continue the mission, I’ll call for you." And then, silence.

Exhausted in body and mind, Lancer knew he would see Toria again during the Fourth Holy Grail War, but perhaps never again his fellow knights, or White Night, who chose to die alongside him. Though Lancer was revived, White Night was gone. Not wanting to dwell on it, he called out "depart," and vanished from the mist-shrouded interval.

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